


Mishpocheh

by involuntaryorange



Category: Inception (2010)
Genre: Domestic, Fluff, Humor, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-03-01
Updated: 2016-03-01
Packaged: 2018-05-24 02:04:29
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 773
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6137553
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/involuntaryorange/pseuds/involuntaryorange
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Written for foiblesse/could-be-that-clever, who co-won the Oscar pool and requested "Arthur and Eames trying to find a weird ingredient in a Whole Foods." You had me at "weird," foiblesse.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Mishpocheh

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Foiblesse](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Foiblesse/gifts).



“Kasha?” Eames says, poking at a pyramid of beautifully-arranged apples. “Isn’t she a singer?”

Arthur looks up from his shopping list to shoot Eames the glare he’s certain he was trying to provoke. “That’s Kesha.”

Eames somehow manages to extract an apple from the dead center of the pyramid without sending everything cascading to the floor. He tosses it up into the air and catches it behind his back. “So you’re going to serve me a singer and some varnish? This doesn’t sound like a very appetizing dinner, love.”

“There’s no _varnish_ in kasha varnishkes. Stop being racist.”

Eames feigns horror. “Me? _Racist_? You know I love your Jewish heritage. Even though it means you miss out on the fun of having a—”

“Eames,” Arthur interrupts, “if you’re about to start talking about foreskins in the middle of Whole Foods, I’m going to leave you here in produce.” He grabs a bag of onions and loads it into the cart. “And anyway, that’s because I’m American, not because I’m Jewish.” He consults the recipe on his phone. “Do you think they have schmaltz here?”

Eames stares at him blankly.

“Chicken fat,” he clarifies.

“This is all strangely adorable,” Eames says.

“Probably not,” Arthur mutters to himself. “I’ll just use butter.” He steers Eames with a hand to the small of his back. “C’mon, let’s go over to the bulk grains.”

 

***

 

“I don’t see any Kesha here,” Eames says, studying the bin labels.

“ _Kasha_. And I don’t see any either.”

“Could you use cous-cous instead?”

“No!” Arthur says, affronted.

Eames holds up his hands, placating. “All right, no pasta in the kasha varnishkes.”

“Well, I mean, there _is_ pasta in kasha varnishkes,” Arthur says distractedly, while doing a Google search on his phone. “But the kasha isn’t pasta. It’s kasha.”

“I feel as though I’m in a very strange Gilbert and Sullivan play,” Eames remarks.

Arthur gestures to his phone. “This says that kasha is also called ‘buckwheat groats.’”

“Groats. How scrumptious-sounding.”

“Aha!” Arthur points triumphantly at a cluster of bins. “Buckwheat.”

Eames squints at the bins. “Do you want fine, medium, or coarse?”

“Oh god, I have no fucking clue.”

“Well. Let’s see. I’m fine, so that’s a point in favor of fine.”

“Really? If we’re going based on metaphorical resemblance, I think a stronger case can be made for ‘coarse.’”

“The only coarse thing about me,” Eames murmurs, pressing himself along Arthur’s side, “is my stubble. How are your thighs feeling, by the way?”

“Medium it is,” Arthur declares, trying not to blush as he shovels grains into a flimsy plastic container.

 

***

 

Several hours later, Eames is staring at the plate Arthur has just put in front of him.

“So it’s grains… _and_ pasta.”

“Yes.”

“Not exactly a health food, is it?”

“It’s Jewish cuisine; of course it isn’t health food.”

Eames nods in concession, then pokes at the dish. “ _Why_ is there pasta?”

“I don’t know, there just is. That’s what kasha varnishkes is.”

Eames assembles a forkful and chews it thoughtfully.

“Well?” Arthur prompts once Eames has swallowed.

“It’s… fine? A perfectly serviceable side dish?”

“It’s the main course.”

“Ah.”

“Actually, I didn’t make anything else.”

“Ah.”

“Should I have made something else?” Arthur frowns at the enormous bowl of carbohydrates and feels a sudden pang of doubt.

“No, no,” Eames assures him. “This is good. It’s just a bit… starchier than I’m used to. If it’s your favorite dish I’m sure I’ll learn to love it as well.”

“What?” Arthur looks at Eames in confusion. “It’s not my favorite dish. I don’t even like it that much.”

“Then why did you make it?” Eames gestures exasperatedly with his fork, sending a few grains of kasha flying. Arthur will no doubt be the one to clean it up later.

“Because!” Arthur shrugs. “My parents used to make it for me when I was little.” Then, quieter: “I wanted to make it for you.”

Eames sets his cutlery down on the table and puts a warm hand on Arthur’s shoulder. “Thank you for making it for me, darling.”

“You’re welcome.” Arthur tilts his head to place a kiss on the back of Eames’s hand, then rubs his cheek against it. Eames’s knuckles are rough, from sparring at the boxing gym down the block.

They stare at Carb Mountain in silence for a moment.

“You made an awful lot of it,” Eames eventually says.

Arthur chuckles. “Yeah, I did. Why did I make so much?”

“Don’t we have new neighbors? They could use a housewarming gift, no?”

Arthur gives Eames’s hand one last nuzzle and stands up. “I’ll go get the Tupperware.”

**Author's Note:**

> [A recipe for kasha varnishkes](http://www.epicurious.com/recipes/food/views/kasha-varnishkes-at-wolffs-in-new-jersey-40010)


End file.
